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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26762614">find your feet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstrung/pseuds/starstrung'>starstrung</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Airships, Alcohol Withdrawal, Canon Asexual Character, Established Relationship, Jealousy, M/M, zolf is bad at hiding he's in love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 02:41:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,198</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26762614</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstrung/pseuds/starstrung</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilde tells Zolf that they have to hide their relationship from Earhart. For Zolf, this is easier said than done.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Amelia Earhart &amp; Zolf Smith, Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>111</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>find your feet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks as always to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/newsbypostcard/pseuds/newsbypostcard">newsbypostcard</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkcycle">hawkcycle</a> for letting me yell at them.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You can’t tell Earhart about us,” Wilde tells Zolf, in Hiroshima. They are in bed, in the rooms that Wilde has rented for himself, the night before the <em> Vengeance </em> is meant to set out to Svalbard. </p><p>Zolf puts down the Harrison Campbell book he was reading. “Hmm?” he says, not following.</p><p>“You can’t tell Earhart,” Wilde says, “about <em> us</em>.” He gestures between them, lying naked in bed together.</p><p>“Oh,” Zolf says, getting it. “Hang on. Why not?”</p><p>“Captain Amelia Earhart does not hold me in high esteem, as you remember. She needs to be able to trust you, Zolf. She will not do that if she thinks you and I are…”</p><p>“You and I are what?” Zolf challenges. Wilde has never named this thing between them, and Zolf has never pressured him on it. Doesn’t mean he’s not bloody curious though.</p><p>Wilde turns slightly pink. “Lovers,” he says.</p><p>“Lovers,” Zolf repeats, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>Wilde ignores this. “I will need you to conceal our relationship from her, at least until we have a clearer idea of what her state of mind is.”</p><p>“Her state of mind is that she wants to kill a dragon,” Zolf says, dryly. “And I doubt she’ll stop at one.”</p><p>“Exactly,” Wilde says. “She’s dangerous. We have to keep her on our side for as long as we can. Getting to Svalbard is the priority, and there’s no other airship captain we can rely on.”</p><p>“So how does this translate to me having to hide that we’re,” Zolf pauses, drawing it out, “<em>lovers</em>.”</p><p>Wilde throws him a sharp look. “She won’t trust you if she thinks your allegiances are split.”</p><p>“My allegiances,” Zolf says, incredulously. “The world’s fucking ending, Oscar, we should all be on the same side.”</p><p>Wilde makes an impatient noise. “Yes, but Earhart doesn’t see it like that. It’s <em> her </em>agenda she’s interested in. Anything that jeopardizes that, she won’t be happy about.”</p><p>Zolf narrows his eyes. “You know I hate it when you use your handler voice on me in bed.”</p><p>Wilde smirks. “I know.”</p><p>“And you know that I’m absolute balls at hiding what I think,” Zolf continues.</p><p>“It’s for the mission,” Wilde says. “Besides, you’ll be busy doing, I don’t know, ship things. We’ll hardly see each other.”</p><p>Zolf likes this idea less and less. “Have you <em> been </em> on a ship? It’s very hard to conceal things like this in close quarters. Gossip moves very quickly. Cel and Azu already have their suspicions about us. Barnes <em> definitely </em> knows.” Zolf takes a breath, and puts his hand on Wilde’s, curling their fingers together. “Also, I don’t <em> want </em>to hardly see you.”</p><p>“I’ve been on a ship,” Wilde says, dismissively. “I’m confident that people will have other things to gossip about.”</p><p>“It’s very easy for you to hide things,” Zolf says. “Don’t you ever get tired of it?”</p><p>Wilde sighs. He squeezes Zolf’s hand. “Of course I’m tired, Zolf. I’ve been tired for a long time.”</p><p>Zolf knows that there was a time not that long ago when even getting Wilde to admit <em> that </em>would have been next to impossible. He leans in and presses a kiss to Wilde’s lips, breathing him in.</p><p>“All right,” Zolf says. “I’ll hide it from Earhart. Or at least, I’ll do my best.”</p><p>“Thank you, Zolf,” Wilde says. His fingers trace the side of Zolf’s face, playing a little with the short hair at the back of Zolf’s head. Zolf hums contentedly.</p><p>“So I suppose this might be our last night together for a while,” Wilde says.</p><p>Zolf catches the unsubtle hint in Wilde’s voice, and grins. “You are bloody insatiable, you know that, right?”</p><p>“You bring it out in me,” Wilde says. “I have been thirsting in the desert for a lifetime, and you were like a beautiful oasis I stumbled upon.”</p><p>Zolf groans. “I am <em> not </em> going to miss you,” he says, but he’s smiling when he rolls on top of Wilde and kisses him.</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The problem is, Zolf’s never been a good liar, and Wilde’s always provoked honesty out of him whether or not Zolf wants him to.</p><p>Wilde shows up to the airship dressed in bellbottoms and a floppy hat that Zolf bought for him as a joke and what looks like three jumpers and Zolf finds himself with a helpless smile on his face.</p><p>Wilde throws him a sharp look, and Zolf struggles to school his features. He must get there, because Wilde gives him a short hidden nod. Fuck, this is going to be difficult.</p><p>Earhart still looks terrible. She looks a bit like Wilde when Zolf had first been assigned to his team, half-starved and with nothing to lose, burning with a grim drive to get the job done or die trying, and leaning more towards the latter. Zolf’s first official action as her second-in-command is to confiscate her captain’s liquor, and sternly tell the quartermaster to withhold her grog ration. </p><p>Earhart snarls in his face and then shuts herself up in her captain’s quarters. Fine. Zolf doesn’t need to be liked. He just needs to make sure Earhart’s not going to steer them into a mountain because she’s too drunk to see straight.</p><p>Wilde’s right — it’s easy for Zolf to keep himself busy on the ship. Earhart seems to be the kind of captain to leave things to her crew, so Zolf goes around making sure everyone has what they need to do their jobs. He leaves the kobolds with Skraak and Hamid to deal with — he may not like that whole situation, but he also knows better than to get involved directly. </p><p>Wilde stays closed up in his tiny room. The only time Zolf sees him is during mealtimes.</p><p>“You’re cooking the meals <em> and </em> you’re first mating,” Cel says, squinting down at him. “<em>And </em> your elementals are flying the ship. <em> And </em> you’re making Mr. Wilde a plate of food.”</p><p>Zolf looks down. He had not noticed that he was making Wilde a plate of food.</p><p>“Do you not <em> sleep</em>?” Cel asks, sounding genuinely curious, like Zolf is a fascinating specimen they want to dissect.</p><p>“‘Course I sleep,” Zolf says gruffly. “And how did you know this plate of food is for Wilde?”</p><p>“Deductive reasoning,” Cel says. “Or rather, an educated guess. Also, you just confirmed it for me.”</p><p>“Right,” Zolf says, mentally kicking himself. </p><p>“Where is Mr. Wilde by the way?” Cel asks. Zolf wishes they would go turn that ever-observant gaze somewhere else.</p><p>“Probably got distracted with work and hasn’t eaten all day,” Zolf mutters under his breath. He’s so used to making Wilde a plate of dinner to set aside that he hadn’t even <em> thought </em> of it. He glares at the extra plate in his hand. What has this man done to him?</p><p>Cel is still <em> looking </em>at him. “Uh huh,” they say. “So are you going to take that to Mr. Wilde then?”</p><p>Zolf stares at them helplessly, feeling like he has lost control of this conversation. “I — I mean —”</p><p>“Take me what?” Wilde says, from just behind Zolf. It takes every ounce of willpower in Zolf’s body to not jump three feet in the air. </p><p>“Mr. Smith made you a plate of food,” Cel informs Wilde, and then they walk off with their own food to sit at a table of kobolds.</p><p>Wilde turns to look at Zolf with a mild, expectant expression. Zolf is painfully aware that they are in the middle of the canteen, surrounded by people. He shoves the plate of food up at Wilde.</p><p>Wilde takes it from him, gingerly. “Thank you, Mr. Smith.” Zolf catches a glimpse of a smile, but Wilde’s too good at hiding it away before he can be sure.</p><p>“I thought. You forgot. About dinner,” Zolf says, haltingly. He leaves Wilde there and sits in a corner next to Azu and begins to shovel food into his mouth so that no one will try to start a conversation with him.</p><p>Wilde sits by himself. Zolf watches out of the corner of his eye as he tucks into the food. He doesn’t try to start a conversation with anyone. After he finishes eating, he gets up and leaves.</p><p>“Zolf, are you all right?” Azu says, concerned. </p><p>“What? Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” Zolf says.</p><p>Azu peers down at him. He prays, desperately, that she won’t say anything. Earhart is a table over from them, seeming to be in conversation with another crewmate, but he can’t be sure that she can’t hear them.</p><p>Azu reaches over and pats Zolf on the shoulder. “It’s all right,” she says, in that easy, booming voice of hers. “You’re taking good care of us, even if you feel like you’re not.”</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Zolf keeps having moments where he thinks he’s back on the sea.</p><p>An airship is similar enough to a regular ship that Zolf feels like he knows what he’s doing, but just different enough that there are odd flashes of disorientation. He’ll overbalance on the deck expecting the swell of a tide instead of the billowing of an air current, will listen for the sound of crashing waves instead of the never-ending wind.</p><p>Every night, once everyone has turned in except the sparse night crew and everything is ghostly and mist-wreathed in the dim lantern light, Zolf walks the ship. He walks the upper deck from bow to stern, then he goes to the lower decks and walks those as well. He’s not necessarily looking for anything in particular. It’s an old habit, he supposes. A kind of meditative ritual to give himself peace of mind.</p><p>If he stands vigilant guard, Zolf reasons, perhaps this time they will pull through unharmed.</p><p>He passes by Wilde’s door. The light is still on inside, flickering from within. He stands outside the door for longer than he should, eyes caught on that warm glow. Zolf wants desperately to push Wilde’s door open, walk inside, bully Wilde into sleeping, kiss his insufferable mouth when he tries to argue.</p><p>Zolf shakes his head and he keeps walking.</p><p>Wilde is not the only one still up, it seems. As he passes by Earhart’s cabin, he sees that her light is still on as well. Zolf knocks on the door, but there is no response. Thinking that perhaps Earhart fell asleep with a candle still lit, he pushes the door open, only to find her slumped over on her desk, unconscious. Her face has gone completely pale, and there’s sweat beading at her forehead. The smell of sick is in the air.</p><p>Zolf closes the door behind him. “Captain,” he says, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder.</p><p>Earhart startles awake, her eyes going wild and angry. She immediately throws a weak punch at Zolf, which he dodges easily. “Get out,” she snarls.</p><p>“You’re going through withdrawal,” Zolf says, calmly. “I can heal you.”</p><p>“I don’t need your help,” Earhart says. She punches him again. This time he lets her hit him. It knocks ineffectually against his chest, and she almost overbalances with the exertion. </p><p>“Look at you,” Zolf says. “You can barely stand. I thought you said you could captain this ship.” He knows he’s being harsh, unkind. He also knows that kindness isn’t going to help Earhart.</p><p>“I can,” Earhart says, wiping her mouth. She staggers, and then leans heavily against the desk. “I have to.”</p><p>“Then let me fucking heal you,” Zolf says. He holds out his hands.</p><p>Zolf sees it when the fight leaves her. Her shoulders slump. She goes docile, collapsing back down on her chair. “Fine.”</p><p>Zolf swallows down his pity. Earhart is too dangerous to pity, he reminds himself. There is something in her that broke a long time ago, that kept breaking, because there was no one left to fix it. It’s up to Earhart if she wants to take that leap of faith or not. </p><p>It’s not an easy choice to make. Zolf knows this, better than anyone.</p><p>Zolf heals her. He dulls the pain of withdrawal, makes it so that her body isn’t fighting her as much, takes away the nausea so that she can keep down her food. It’s a temporary fix. Earhart’s body will have to keep doing the rest.</p><p>He wishes he could do more.</p><p>As he heals her, Zolf feels Earhart’s shoulders shaking silently. She’s laughing, he realizes.</p><p>“What’s so funny?” he asks.</p><p>“Nothing,” Earhart says, with a bitter chuckle. She raises her chin and looks at him. The hollowness in her eyes is too familiar, like looking at a ghost. Zolf nearly recoils. “I’m the captain. So if I’m fucked, what does that mean for you?”</p><p>“There’s always mutiny,” Zolf says. It’s probably not the most tactful thing for him to say, but Earhart just smiles.</p><p>“I won’t go down without a fight,” she says. There is a familiar fierceness in it that he remembers from the old Earhart.</p><p>“Good,” Zolf says. “I’ll hold you to that promise.” He channels another heal spell through her, and he’s not gentle about it either. Earhart winces briefly in pain. </p><p>“You’re an odd one, Zolf Smith,” Earhart says, almost to herself. “If you hate me, you have a strange way of showing it.”</p><p>“I don’t hate you,” Zolf says. “I’ve just seen enough shipwrecks to know that there’s always something to salvage.”</p><p>Earhart is silent after that, but at least she’s not laughing anymore. When he’s done healing her, she’s so exhausted that she’s barely awake. Zolf helps her to her bed where she falls asleep immediately. Then he goes back outside, staring out at the mists for a long time before heading off to sleep.</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The days pass, the landscape below them changing rapidly. The longer they spend in the air, the happier Wilde looks.</p><p>It’s like Wilde is suddenly free of the responsibilities that were weighing him down on land. Up here, he doesn’t have to be in charge, doesn’t have to be <em> on </em>all the time. Zolf sees a lightness in Wilde that he’s only ever rarely seen. </p><p>He hates that he can only see it from a distance.</p><p>Wilde comes to dinner on time for once. Zolf sees Barnes wave him over to their table. Carter sits next to them.</p><p>Zolf is barely focused on his food. He watches as Carter scoots closer to Wilde on the bench, much closer than he really needs to be. He slings an arm around Wilde’s shoulders and leans in to say something.</p><p>Zolf’s grip on his fork tightens. Carter is <em> definitely </em>flirting. He knows that look on Carter’s face, like he’s gotten bored, and Wilde is nearby, and fun to poke, and he wants to see what happens. </p><p>Zolf sees Wilde look at Carter indulgently, in that patient, forgiving way you look at a puppy before it’s house-trained. Zolf stands up abruptly, and is walking over to their table before he’s even realized he’s doing it.</p><p>“Wilde, I need to talk to you,” he says.</p><p>The entire table looks at him.</p><p>“Is there something the matter?” Wilde says, with what looks like genuine confusion. Carter still has his bloody arm around Wilde’s shoulders.</p><p>Zolf finds himself at a loss for words. Unexpectedly, it’s Barnes that comes to his rescue.</p><p>“Oh, right, you wanted to talk to Zolf about the landing in Svalbard,” Barnes says. “You mentioned.” He nods at Wilde.</p><p>“Ah yes, that,” Wilde says. If he is surprised by Barnes’ intervention, he doesn’t show it. </p><p>Wilde addresses the table. “If you’ll excuse me.” Carter reluctantly disentangles himself from Wilde as Wilde rises gracefully to his feet. Zolf feels something very horrible inside him start to sing.</p><p>He’s pretty sure he sees Barnes wink at him as they turn to leave, but it’s too quick to be sure.</p><p>Mercifully, the rest of the ship is empty, since everyone is in the canteen. As soon as they’re out of sight of the crew, Zolf grabs Wilde’s arm and begins pulling him back to his room.</p><p>“Zolf?” Wilde says, alarmed. “What’s going on?”</p><p>“I want to fuck you,” Zolf says.</p><p>Wilde lets out a startled bark of laughter. “<em>What</em>?”</p><p>“You heard me,” Zolf growls. Gods, he just wants to get them somewhere private, so that he can—</p><p>“Zolf,” Wilde says, amused. “Are you jealous? Of <em> Carter</em>?”</p><p>Thankfully, that is when they reach Wilde’s quarters. Zolf pulls them both inside and shuts the door.</p><p>Wilde turns to him, delight in his face. “You do know I would never sleep with Carter, don’t you? Gods, can you imagine?” Wilde gives a long shudder. “The upkeep, alone. Also, I’m pretty sure Barnes would skin me alive if I tried. He has a soft spot for the boy, you know.”</p><p>“This isn’t about Carter,” Zolf says, because it’s really not, not in truth. “I missed you.”</p><p>“Oh.” Wilde’s eyes go wide, like Zolf has surprised him. “I — I’ve missed you, too.” Wilde says this slowly, unevenly, like the words are unfamiliar to him.</p><p>They stare at each other for a moment, both coming to terms with what this means. Then Wilde begins to undress.</p><p>“For the record, I think this is a terrible idea,” Wilde says, his voice muffled through wool as he pulls his jumper up over his head. “But if we <em> are </em>going to do this, we should hurry. We don’t have much time before someone catches on. Help me with this.” Zolf, who was still standing there dumbstruck, steps forward, helping Wilde out of his many layers.</p><p>“Why are you wearing so many jumpers,” Zolf says with frustration, after he pulls off the fourth one.</p><p>“I get cold,” Wilde says, petulant. “I’ve had no one to warm my bed.” </p><p>“And whose fault is that,” Zolf says, ignoring Wilde’s laugh.</p><p>All this time being unable to share Wilde’s bed, to touch him, to be at his side — it’s clearly affected Zolf more than he thought it had. As soon as they are both undressed, Zolf pushes Wilde onto the narrow bed and begins sucking bruising kisses into his neck.</p><p>“Zolf, what are you doing,” Wilde says, his voice a high-pitched whine.</p><p>“Marking you,” Zolf growls, biting at the bruise he has left on Wilde’s throat. It will be hidden by his collar and his scarves, but Zolf will know it’s there, and that’s all matters.</p><p>“Fuck,” Wilde says, his voice breaking, his fingers digging into Zolf’s shoulders. “Maybe I <em> should </em> start flirting with Carter.”</p><p>“Don’t you dare,” Zolf says, rocking his hips forward so that Wilde can feel Zolf’s hard cock drag against his belly. Zolf doesn’t often need a release, but he <em> wants </em> to come now, he wants to open Wilde up and fuck into him and finish there, where Wilde will feel him. </p><p>Even though he does it rarely, Zolf loves fucking Wilde. He loves being the only one who gets to do this, who gets to take Wilde apart, take him out of his head, fill him up. </p><p>“Where’s the—”</p><p>“Here,” Wilde says, pulling a bottle of oil out from beside the bed and handing it to Zolf.</p><p>Zolf looks at the bottle, which is only half full. He’s pretty sure this oil was on the extremely long list of supplies that Wilde had him buy for him before they left Hiroshima. The bottle had certainly been full then. Zolf raises an eyebrow at Wilde, who gives him an unrepentant smirk.</p><p>“I did say I missed you, didn’t I?” </p><p>There is so much heat coursing through him, Zolf feels like a furnace. “Did you think of me when you fucked yourself open on your fingers?” Zolf says, his voice rough. He pours oil onto his hand and wraps a slick palm around Wilde’s cock.</p><p>Wilde whimpers, pushing into Zolf’s grip. “Yes,” Wilde says. He throws his head back, his hips tilting up. The picture Wilde makes, aroused and needy and laid out like this <em> for Zolf </em> — it’s fucking mesmerizing. </p><p>“If you keep that up, I’m going to finish too soon,” Wilde says. He pulls Zolf’s hand off of him, and guides it so that his fingers rest up against Wilde’s entrance. “I want to finish with you inside me.”</p><p>“Greedy,” Zolf says, but he pours more oil onto his hand, and begins to push in, working Wilde loose with his fingers. </p><p>“Oh, <em> I’m </em>the greedy one,” Wilde says, with a gasp. “Out of the two of us, who pulled me from my dinner so that he could fuck me?”</p><p>“All right, I admit, that was a bit rash,” Zolf says.</p><p>“An understatement,” Wilde says. He pulls Zolf close to him and kisses him, all hunger and teeth, making it clear that he wants this just as much as Zolf does. </p><p>Zolf feels almost dizzy with the desire to be inside Wilde right now, but he makes himself slow down. He knows they don’t have time, but he doesn’t want to rush this. He fits in two fingers, then three, until Wilde is rocking up against his hand, trying to fuck himself deeper onto Zolf’s fingers, is begging Zolf to hurry. Zolf crooks them, hitting just that spot, and Wilde lets out a shaky moan.</p><p>“I’m ready, Zolf,” Wilde says. “Just for you, I promise.”</p><p>“Fuck,” Zolf says, brokenly, and begins to slide his cock into Wilde. He pushes in deep with one smooth thrust, and Wilde stifles another noise by biting at his fist. </p><p>Gods, he’s already so close. Zolf hooks Wilde’s legs around his hips and braces himself up above him on the bed and begins to fuck Wilde in earnest. They build up to a rhythm, almost near the cusp of too much. Zolf can feel Wilde’s cock leaking onto his belly between them as Wilde makes small, distant noises in the back of his throat. Zolf wraps his still-slick hand around it, pulling it in time to his thrusts.</p><p>“Come on, Oscar, come on,” Zolf says. “I want to feel you, come on.”</p><p>He feels it when Wilde lets go, feels him clenching around him, letting out a final strangled cry and spilling onto his belly, onto Zolf’s chest. Zolf fucks him through it for as long as he is able, but this proves to be too difficult — he gives one final thrust and then he’s coming as well.</p><p>“Gods, Zolf,” Wilde says, his voice ragged, as they both lie down, gathering themselves. “I will say one thing about you, you certainly don’t do anything in half measures.”</p><p>They clean up and get dressed as quickly as they are able. It takes Zolf a long time to put on his boots. His limbs feel loose and relaxed in a way that they haven’t for a while, like some hidden tension has finally been released. He finds himself smiling loopily at his bootlaces before he stops himself.</p><p>On the other side of the room, Wilde is also dressed, but he keeps fussing with his hair, combing it furiously.</p><p>“I miss magic,” Wilde says. He turns to glare at Zolf. “Look at me. Look at what you’ve done.”</p><p>Zolf appraises Wilde. He looks good. There’s a warm flush to his face, and he’s more animated and open in the way he speaks. </p><p>“I look <em> debauched</em>,” Wilde says. </p><p>“You do not,” Zolf says, although now he’s not so sure. “Do you?”</p><p>“Yes,” Wilde says confidently. “It’s going to take ages to put myself back together.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Zolf says, feeling a little guilty now. “Do I, er, look all right?”</p><p>Wilde looks him over, and makes a frustrated noise. “Yes, you look fine. How did you do that? You look just as artlessly disheveled as you always do.”</p><p>Zolf rolls his eyes. “Thanks very much. I’ll head out first then, shall I?”</p><p>“Wait,” Wilde says. He’s still prodding at his hair. “I didn’t finish my dinner. Bring me a plate, will you? No carrots, please. I know you keep making them on purpose. What were those dumplings? Those were very good.”</p><p>Zolf sighs. “Fine. Anything else?”</p><p>“Yes, give this to Carter for me.” Wilde goes over to Zolf, bends down, and kisses Zolf on the lips. Before Zolf can say anything, Wilde pushes him out the door with a smirk.</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It gets colder and colder the further north they go. The ship has its own defenses against the elements, necessary for them not to freeze into stiff icicles as they fly to Svalbard, but they can only do so much. Now when Zolf finishes his nightly patrols, his heavy coat is covered in frost, and his gloves are stiff with cold.</p><p>Earhart’s condition stays about the same. Zolf does his best to mitigate the withdrawal symptoms, but there is a limit to what his healing magic can accomplish. There will be days when she’s better, barking out orders on the deck, overseeing the daily de-icing of the sides of the airship. Then there will be other days when she stays locked up in her cabin, feral and withdrawn, unable to keep even the most basic of food down, spending all night in a rampage in her cabin.</p><p>It is on one of these nights that Zolf brings her some thin soup and bread, since she didn’t come to any of the meals. He finds her with her legs propped up on her desk, holding her pistol in her hand. There are bullet holes in the wood finishing of the cabin wall that Zolf doesn’t remember seeing before. </p><p>He very carefully doesn’t react, just comes in, sets down her food, and then stands leaning against the wall, staring her down.</p><p>“Oh, look, my jailor,” Earhart says, with a sneer. She flicks the chamber of her pistol out, then flicks it back in. Does it again, and again. Zolf can see that the pistol is still fully loaded.</p><p>“If you think <em> I’m </em> the one holding you hostage, then you’re in worse shape than I thought,” Zolf says, dry. He holds out his hand.</p><p>Earhart hands him the pistol, glaring at him through her fringe. Her hair has been growing out badly, and she doesn’t seem to want to take care of it, other than shoving it all under a hat. He considers telling her that Hamid would be happy to cut it for her, but suspects that this would be received badly.</p><p>Zolf empties the chamber out, letting the bullets spill onto the floor, then hands it back to her. She could reload it easily if she wanted, and he’s not going to take it from her — he doubts that would be a battle he could win — but at least he’s not going to have to worry about her accidentally (or purposefully) shooting him in the back.</p><p>“You should eat that before it gets cold,” Zolf says, nodding towards the soup. He sees Earhart look at the food, and then immediately close her eyes, looking queasy.</p><p>He sighs, and crosses his arms. “Bad day, then?”</p><p>“What do you think,” Earhart says, her voice flat.</p><p>“I’ve told you, I’m a cleric. Healing is what I do. I can’t heal you if you don’t tell me.”</p><p>“I’m fine,” Earhart says, stubbornly. “I know what my limits are.”</p><p>“Where have I heard that one before,” Zolf says under his breath.</p><p>Earhart looks at him sharply. “What?” </p><p>“Nothing. Do you want me to heal you or not?”</p><p>Earhart doesn’t answer. She traces the handle of her pistol, but in an idle, absent way. “If I can fight this, I can fight a dragon. If I let this beat me, then I’m not strong enough.”</p><p>Zolf snorts. “It’s that simple, is it?”</p><p>There is a defiant, hard glint in Earhart’s eyes. “It is if I say it is.”</p><p>Zolf studies her. There is a new determination in her eyes, a resolve that he hasn’t seen before. Something has galvanized her into trying to get herself better, that much is clear. If it happens to be the promise of vengeance, well, it’s not like Zolf is one to judge.</p><p>“Anyone ever tell you you’re a terrible patient, Captain?” Zolf says.</p><p>Earhart tilts her head, something of a smile on her face. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a terrible healer, Mr. Smith?”</p><p>Zolf shrugs. “No one alive, at least,” he says. This earns him a short laugh.</p><p>“Get out,” Earhart says, and there’s almost something like respect in her eyes. </p><p>As Zolf leaves, he sees her pick up her pistol, and reload it again.</p><p>Zolf does what he always does, every night. He walks the ship. He walks methodical circles around it, a route so ingrained in him now that he doesn’t need to think about where to place his feet, could probably count the steps in his sleep. He is lost in thought, his mind spinning with what Earhart has said, wondering if he’s doing the right thing, praying that this is all going to be worth it for the promise of a better world.</p><p>It must be hours later that he runs into Wilde standing by himself on the upper deck.</p><p>“You’re awake,” Zolf says, with surprise. He checks the timepiece on the deck and realizes that it’s nearly three hours past midnight. </p><p>“So are you,” Wilde points out. “Couldn’t sleep either?”</p><p>Zolf shakes his head. He realizes that this is the first time he and Wilde have been alone in days, not since the time he took him aside during dinner. He goes warm again, remembering. Wilde seems to be having the same thought, because his expression softens. He reaches out with his gloved hand and strokes his fingers through Zolf’s hair gently, combing it back. </p><p>Even this small touch makes Zolf ache with some strange longing. He takes Wilde’s hand, tugs the edge of his glove just far enough down so that he can kiss the inside of Wilde’s wrist. He feels Wilde shiver.</p><p>Zolf clears his throat, ignoring the emotion building in his chest, and looks out over the edge of the ship. It’s a beautiful, clear night, the stars lit above them. In the far distance, they can see the northern lights splitting the sky open into multicolored arches. Zolf wonders what they will encounter there.</p><p>“How is Earhart?” Wilde asks.</p><p>“Fine, according to her,” Zolf says.</p><p>“And according to you?”</p><p>Zolf sighs. “Too stubborn for her own good. Reckless. Bound to get herself killed. Bound to get other people killed too.”</p><p>Wilde lets out a breath. “You’re starting to care about her.” It isn’t a question.</p><p>Zolf shrugs. “It’s hard not to see myself in her. The person I was after the shipwreck, after Feryn.” He looks at Wilde. “I see a fair bit of <em> you </em>in her also, you know.”</p><p>Wilde looks taken aback. “Me?”</p><p>“Yes, you. Too blind to see when you’re about to careen off the edge, unwilling to take care of yourself, a fucking pain in the arse.”</p><p>Wilde puts his hand over his heart. “You say the sweetest things, Zolf, you really do.”</p><p>“Yeah, well,” Zolf grumbles. “At least you don’t wave around a loaded gun like it’s a baton.”</p><p>“Is that the <em> only </em>difference between us?” Wilde says, his voice studiously casual.</p><p>Zolf turns to look at him with a grin. “Are <em> you </em> jealous? Of <em> Earhart</em>?”</p><p>Wilde scoffs. “Don’t be preposterous.”</p><p>Just because he can, Zolf takes Wilde by his collar and pulls him down for a kiss, searing hot in the middle of this bitter cold. “You might be a pain in the arse, but you’re <em> my </em> pain in the arse,” Zolf says, tenderly.</p><p>Wilde rolls his eyes, although he looks pleased. “Congratulations,” Wilde says, straightening. “You’ve discovered a line of dialogue that’s even worse than something in a Harrison Campbell book.”</p><p>“What can I say, it’s hard to compete with the literary greats of our time,” Zolf says. “Now, is there a reason you’re out here without even a fucking scarf on?”</p><p>“Oh,” Wilde says, his hand going to his bare neck. “I forgot.”</p><p>Zolf shakes his head. He unwinds his own scarf, and then pulls Wilde down again so that he can tie it around his neck. He ties it extra tightly, just out of spite. </p><p>“Do me a favor, don’t freeze on your way back to your quarters?” Zolf says, patting Wilde’s cheek for extra measure before releasing him. “It would take forever to scrape your frozen body off the deck.”</p><p>“Knew you cared about me,” Wilde says, strangled. He takes a moment to fastidiously adjust the scarf to his liking, and walks off the deck, leaving Zolf to find his own bed.</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The wild magic storm comes out of nowhere.</p><p>One moment they’re in calm skies, nothing but an endless pale sky and the icy landscape below them. The next moment, there is loose magic crackling in the air all around them, the ship heaving and buckling beneath them like it’s come alive and is fighting them off. </p><p>Zolf sees Earhart bellow orders, something like a grin on her face, like she’s finally back in her element, feeling adrenaline singing in her veins. The wild magic makes her voice echo oddly, like she’s being split in two. Zolf keeps seeing afterimages of the crew following behind just one second delayed. He rubs his eyes, but they’re still there, like ghosts.</p><p>Zolf doesn’t know what Wilde was even doing up on deck. He should have been below, safe in his quarters. Zolf doesn’t know why now, of all times, Wilde chose to be out in the open, unprotected.</p><p>Zolf watches the lightning strike Wilde, as if in slow motion.</p><p>It’s a bolt of pure wild magic, leaping across the sky straight for Wilde like Wilde is a lightning rod drawing it towards him. Zolf doesn’t even realize he’s screaming Wilde’s name until he’s already halfway across the deck.</p><p>Wilde crumples to the floor. Zolf races over to him and falls to his knees next to Wilde, reaching out to take him into his arms.</p><p>Something goes <em> wrong </em>when he touches Wilde. </p><p>Zolf’s vision goes blue, then yellow, then a rapid shift of prismatic colors. His skeleton feels like it’s been struck like a bell, his bones quivering with a strange, nauseating force. Zolf hears the sound of voices clamoring in his head, most of them unfamiliar to him, although he thinks he catches Wilde’s voice somewhere in the mix, saying a name. <em> Isola. Isola. </em></p><p>Cel is the one who pulls Zolf off of Wilde’s body. Immediately, Zolf’s vision clears, sensation returns to his body, and he stops hearing the voices.</p><p>“I don’t think you should touch him, Mr. Smith!” Cel shouts over the still-raging storm. “There’s a lot of wild magic still wrapped around him.”</p><p>“I have to help him,” Zolf says, trying to push out of Cel’s grip. Cel is stronger than they look, though, and keep him back.</p><p>“He’s fine, I think,” Cel says. “Those anti-magic shackles of his, I think they’re protecting him. <em> Or </em> they’re what drew the wild magic to him in the first place. Or both! Haven’t really figured that part out yet.” They scratch their head.</p><p>Zolf throws an agonized look at Wilde. It’s true that other than being knocked unconscious, he <em> looks </em> fine. He’s breathing. There’s no blood pouring from his eyes or nose or anything, and he doesn’t seem like he’s in pain or distress. But there’s still a dangerous crackle of wild magic surrounding him, making it impossible to touch him.</p><p>“Think you should leave him alone until the storm passes,” Cel advises. “It should go away then. Probably. Most likely. But if you touch him, you’ll <em> definitely </em> explode. You looked <em> very </em>explodey when I got to you.”</p><p>“Fine,” Zolf says, getting reluctantly to his feet. He begins to shout orders to anyone who’s nearby, and together they make a kind of rudimentary barrier around Wilde’s body so at least he won’t be stepped on in the rush. This done, Zolf tears his gaze away from Wilde and focuses on helping steer the airship out of the storm.</p><p>It takes them a while to get the airship under control. It seems to have developed a mind of its own — Barnes is having a hell of a time at the wheel, like it’s fighting him. As soon as Zolf gets there and puts his hand on the wheel to help him, though, the ship eases up.</p><p>“What did you do?” Barnes says, blinking at Zolf.</p><p>“Nothing,” Zolf says, with surprise.</p><p>“Huh,” Barnes says. He hands the wheel off to Zolf without another word.</p><p>It’s easier after that, somehow. The storm eases, and then it’s possible to take stock of any damage the ship took. It isn’t too bad. Or at least, Cel’s confident they can fix it without too much trouble, which could mean anything, the way Cel says it.</p><p>Zolf stays at the wheel through it. It may be stupid, but it feels like the ship <em> likes </em> him for some reason. He shakes his head, laughing at himself. Sailors are a superstitious lot, and it looks like Zolf hasn’t managed to shake that habit even up here in the sky. </p><p>Still, it’s not like being superstitious can <em> hurt</em>, so Zolf begins to sing a sea shanty under his breath. It could be his imagination, but it feels like the airship starts moving a little faster, after that.</p><p>Cel is right, about Wilde. As soon as they’re out of the storm, Wilde sits up on the deck, looking perfectly unharmed, the wild magic gone. Zolf runs to him immediately.</p><p>He doesn’t care who’s watching. He pulls Wilde into a hug. Wilde makes a surprised <em> oof </em>noise, and then hugs Zolf back.</p><p>“You absolute idiot,” Zolf says.</p><p>“Yes, yes, I know,” Wilde says. Zolf feels Wilde’s cold nose nuzzle into his neck. </p><p>“Fuck, you’re freezing. Go to bed, Oscar, before you fall off the side of the ship or something.” Zolf pulls away, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve before anyone can see how suspiciously wet they’ve gotten. </p><p>“Mmm, yes, all right,” Wilde says, with a dazed smile. He still seems pretty out of it.</p><p>Zolf turns to the nearest person, who happens to be Carter. He grimaces, and turns to the next nearest person, who happens to be Skraak. “Make sure he gets to his quarters safely, will you? Please?”</p><p>Skraak blinks at him in that slow way kobolds do, and then he nods. He reaches up and takes Wilde’s hand and begins to tug him below decks like an overstretched child.</p><p>Zolf shakes his head, and then he turns his attention back to helping Cel with repairs.</p><p>When it’s done, and Cel is satisfied that they won’t fall out of the sky, Zolf is weary and sore. He goes to Earhart’s cabin. Earhart is deliberating with Hamid and some other crewmembers about their trajectory into Svalbard, and how best to avoid any possible upcoming storms. He leans in the doorway and waits for them to finish, trying his best not to fall asleep on his feet.</p><p>Earhart dismisses them eventually, and looks up at him as she clears away her charts.</p><p>“You look like shit,” she says.</p><p>“That’s usually my line,” Zolf says.</p><p>Earhart quirks a smile at him. “What are you doing here? Get some rest.”</p><p>“Just wanted to say, Captain, you did good out there today,” Zolf says.</p><p>Earhart starts to say something, and then stops herself. “Thanks. It felt good out there. Felt like I could trust myself. And other people could trust me too.”</p><p>“Everyone made it through safe because of you,” Zolf says.</p><p>Earhart pulls a face. “Flattery’s not going to get you anywhere with me, Mr. Smith. Besides, pretty sure you already have someone special in your life.”</p><p>Shit. “I don’t know what you’ve heard—” Zolf says, nervously.</p><p>Earhart gives him a look. “Don’t need to have heard anything. I have eyes. I saw you and Wilde on the deck.”</p><p>“Listen, Captain, I swear I wasn’t hiding it from you for anything nefarious, I just—”</p><p>Earhart waves a hand, cutting him off. “I don’t fucking care, all right? Just, can you stop talking to me and go to him already? You look pathetic.”</p><p>Zolf nods, sheepish. “Yes, Captain.”</p><p>Zolf follows orders, for once, and goes straight to Wilde’s quarters. Wilde is asleep when he comes in, but he rouses awake when Zolf sits on the bed, smiling blearily up at Zolf.</p><p>“You’re here,” Wilde says.</p><p>Zolf bends down and kisses Wilde’s forehead. </p><p>“What was that for?” Wilde says, sleepily.</p><p>“Thought I’d lost you today, that’s all,” Zolf says.</p><p>“You didn’t. You’re here now,” Wilde says. Zolf kisses him again, just for that.</p><p>“Who’s Isola?” Zolf says. “I heard her name, earlier. I think I was in your head, in the storm.”</p><p>Wilde’s expression goes distant, an old sadness in his smile. “Isola,” he says. “I haven’t heard her name in a long time.”</p><p>“Who is she?” Zolf asks.</p><p>“My sister,” Wilde says. “She died when I was twelve.”</p><p>“Oh,” Zolf says. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Wilde shakes his head. “It’s all right. It’s nice to talk about her, to remember. I wrote a poem for her, to remember her.” Wilde’s eyes close, and his voice goes deeper, more melodic, almost like he’s singing. “Peace, peace; she cannot hear lyre or sonnet. All my life’s buried here, heap earth upon it.”</p><p>“It’s lovely,” Zolf says.</p><p>Wilde yawns widely, his jaw cracking. He’s barely awake when he says, “She was lovely too.”</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Zolf still walks the ship every night. Now and then he’ll sing a sea shanty to himself, feeling like the ship is listening. When he’s done, instead of turning to his own cot, he goes to Wilde’s quarters.</p><p>Wilde is working at his desk when Zolf comes in. He hasn’t given any indication that he’s noticed Zolf’s presence. Zolf hangs up his coat, and strips off his gloves, resting his hands up against the room’s lantern until they’re warm again.</p><p>“You’re working late,” Zolf says.</p><p>“Preparing for Svalbard,” Wilde says absently.</p><p>Zolf walks over and puts a possessive hand into Wilde’s hair. “Are you coming to bed soon?” </p><p>Wilde shivers and the grip on his pen tightens. It’s barely noticeable. Zolf notices it, though. He says, amused, “That kind of night, is it?” </p><p>“Don’t know what you mean,” Wilde says, sounding suspiciously breathless. He keeps writing, his pace unbroken.</p><p>“Sure.” Zolf curls his fingers further into Wilde’s hair, letting his blunt nails scratch up against his scalp. Wilde lets out a small whine, and the line of his back goes slack.</p><p>“Come to bed, Oscar,” Zolf says, keeping his voice low. “It’s too cold to keep working.”</p><p>“You could always warm me up.” Wilde tugs Zolf’s other hand into the open collar of his shirt so that Zolf’s palm rests over his bare chest. Zolf snorts, but he leans his weight against Wilde’s side and strokes his hand across Wilde’s chest lazily while Wilde continues to write in that curling neat script of his. </p><p>Zolf loses himself in it a little, and doesn’t even realize that he’s begun to play with one of Wilde’s nipples until Wilde lets out a small gasp and starts to squirm in his seat.</p><p>“Zolf,” Wilde says with a gasp.</p><p>Zolf looks down. He can see the hard outline of Wilde’s cock straining in his trousers. He smiles and gives Wilde’s nipple a pinch, and Wilde lets out a surprised whimper. He’s given up the pretense of working, his eyes fluttering closed. “Warmed up now?” Zolf says.</p><p>“Not everywhere,” Wilde says, sly.</p><p>“Come to bed and I’ll see what I can do about that,” Zolf says.</p><p>“You make a — a compelling argument.” Wilde stands up, extinguishing the candle on his desk. They cross the tiny room and get into the small bed. It’s cold enough that getting undressed is done as quickly as possible so that they can get under the blankets and start warming them up. </p><p>Zolf always marvels at how inefficient human circulation can be. Wilde, especially, seems to have arbitrary cold spots that never seem to heat up properly, like his hands and his feet. After he learned that dwarves have no such design flaw, Wilde has taken to shoving his cold limbs up against Zolf’s skin any time he sees the opportunity. </p><p>Even now, Zolf is alarmed at how icy Wilde’s hands have gotten. He takes them in his hands and breathes over them, rubbing them vigorously. “How were you <em> writing</em>?” Zolf says.</p><p>Wilde shrugs. “I’m accustomed to it. Are you going to do that all night?”</p><p>“Don’t want your fingers to fall off in the middle,” Zolf says, seriously. “Don’t know if I’d be able to stick them back on, and I feel like it would kill the mood.”</p><p>Wilde rolls his eyes. He looks lovely in the low lantern light, loose-limbed and inviting. Zolf presses Wilde’s hands into the mattress and kisses him. </p><p>The ship creaks around them in that familiar, restless way that ships do. That part’s the same whether they’re in the sky or on sea, apparently, the sense of being the only warm and alive thing for miles and miles. </p><p>Now that he doesn't have to worry about being discovered, Zolf takes his time with Wilde, pressing warmth into every part of him with his mouth, his hands, until Wilde is hot and flushed and trembling beneath him. Zolf wraps his hand around Wilde’s cock, generous with the positioning of his sailor’s calluses, and Wilde makes such a <em> pretty </em> noise, quickly bitten off so that they’re not heard through the walls.</p><p>Zolf shushes him. “You want Earhart to come see what all the fuss is about?”</p><p>Wilde makes a sort of hysterical noise that quickly turns into another moan as Zolf tightens his grip on him. They both know by now that Wilde has an exhibitionist streak about a mile wide, although they’ll probably never come around to testing it. Zolf has come to the conclusion that he’s much too territorial of Wilde for that.</p><p>“It’s not my fault that you — you —” Wilde breaks off with a gasp. He’s drawing close. Zolf can tell by the way he can’t finish his sentences. He loosens his grip, and grins when Wilde swears at him.</p><p>“Not my fault that what?” Zolf asks.</p><p>Wilde makes a frustrated noise, and begins to speak all in one rush, “Yes, all right, you’re very good at this, I think about your hands all the time, I want them on me, I want them in me, Zolf, my love, please, I’ve missed you, I don’t deserve you, I want to be yours, please make me yours.”</p><p>It is Zolf’s turn to go breathless. He doesn’t even realize that he’s tightened his grip on Wilde’s cock again and is stroking him in rapid rhythm to match Wilde’s words until Wilde breaks off mid-sentence and goes rigid, eyes screwed close, spilling his release into Zolf’s hand. </p><p>Zolf works him through it until Wilde is completely spent. He kisses Wilde softly along his collarbone until Wilde seems to come back to himself with a sigh. Zolf sees Wilde reflexively raise a hand as if to cast prestidigitation, then remember that he can’t. He catches Wilde’s hand and kisses it, levering himself out of the bed.</p><p>“Hold on, I’ll clean you up,” Zolf says, and grabs a cloth, cleaning off Wilde’s come, and wiping the sweat off of Wilde’s chest. Wilde makes an appreciative noise, and then as soon as Zolf gets back into bed, he wraps himself around Zolf like a very satisfied cat.</p><p>“So,” Zolf says, tentatively breaking the comfortable silence.</p><p>“No, we don’t need to talk about it,” Wilde says, immediately.</p><p>“Okay,” Zolf says. He looks down at Wilde, who seems to be willing himself to fall asleep. “I kind of want to talk about it, though.”</p><p>Wilde detaches himself from Zolf and stares up at the ceiling. “I apologize,” he says, stiffly. “What I said. It was — embarrassing.”</p><p>“It wasn’t,” Zolf says. He strokes his knuckles across Wilde’s cheek, unable to find the words to convey the tender feeling building in his chest.</p><p>“We were apart for all that time, and it’s just very intense with you sometimes,” Wilde says, frowning, like he thinks this is very inconsiderate of Zolf. “And then I just <em> say </em> these things. Without <em> meaning </em> to.”</p><p>“You said what you felt,” Zolf says. “You were honest.”</p><p>Wilde makes a face. “Yes! It was awful!”</p><p>Zolf laughs, and Wilde throws him a glare. </p><p>“I’m glad <em> you’re </em> enjoying this,” Wilde says coldly. “You’re not the one throwing out confessions of — of —”</p><p>“Of love?” Zolf says, as gently as he can.</p><p>“Yes, fine, all right, love,” Wilde says. His expression twists suddenly, goes from indignant to scared all at once. He blinks rapidly up at the ceiling and then turns, burying his face into Zolf’s chest so quickly that Zolf lets out a surprised grunt. He wraps his arms around Wilde, holding him close.</p><p>“Have I mentioned,” Zolf says, “that I love you too?”</p><p>It takes Wilde a moment to reply, and when he does, his voice is shaky. “Of course you do, you big sop. I’m extremely lovable.”</p><p>Zolf kisses the top of Wilde’s head, and lets Wilde hide for a little longer.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The stanza that Wilde recites is from a poem called “Requiescat”, written by the real Oscar Wilde. It was written seven years after the death of his sister, Isola Wilde.</p><p>Find me on <a href="https://twitter.com/star_strung">Twitter</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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